


to all the stars that light the road

by DrPearlGatsby



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (the angst gets resolved!), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Armitage Hux Has Issues, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, F/M, Fluff, Gingerflower, Gingerrose - Freeform, Hux finds out Rose is someone he knows IRL, Rated for Swears, Romance, Rose Tico Needs A Hug, Rose and Hux message each other over the internet, Rosehux, Roux - Freeform, You've Got Mail-esque hijinks, but Ben and Hux are a bit older, college students au, everyone is an undergrad, lab partners au, oh my god they were lab partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24793294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrPearlGatsby/pseuds/DrPearlGatsby
Summary: At the other end of the chat is his best friend and closest confidant, a girl he’d met (of all places) in the YouTube comments section of a video from a Starkiller concert. At this point Hux knows at least a million things about her—her favorite meal, her tendency to overbook her own schedule, her hectic living situation. He’s had no idea what she looks like, no hints about where she lived, only a generic idea of a university schedule that didn’t surprise him when it matched up with his—don’t most schools run on the same schedule? Or was that stupid to think?Because now—now there is no disputing that the girl at the other end of the chat isalsohis lab partner Rose Tico.(a lab partners AU mixed with aYou've Got Mail-type messaging situation)
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Comments: 42
Kudos: 112





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I want to start with a huge shoutout to the GingerRose Hub Discord, whose energy back in January inspired me to work on something long and GingerRose-centric.
> 
> This is a fic I started in January to keep my sanity and then dropped for about four months. I generally write short, so this is an anomaly at about 15.5k words (broken into six chapters plus an epilogue). This fic is finished, and I plan to post a chapter each day until it's all up. I really hope you enjoy my trope-y frolic back into a fantasy land when college classes and socializing were normal (T_T).
> 
> The title comes from the lyrics to "Outnumbered" by Dermot Kennedy, which I'm excerpting below (and claiming no ownership over!) because they fit so well with this idea.
> 
> _I could have showed you all the scars at the start  
>  But that was always the most difficult part  
> See, I'm in love with how your soul's a mix of chaos and art  
> And how you never try to keep 'em apart  
> I wrote some words and then I stared at my feet  
> Became a coward when I needed to speak...  
> To all the stars that light the road  
> Don't ever leave that girl so cold  
> Never let me down, just lead me home  
> Don't tell me this is all for nothing  
> I can only tell you one thing  
> On the nights you feel outnumbered  
> Baby, I'll be out there somewhere_

**Monday**

When Rose returns to the classroom, the TA flags her down. “Miss Tico, a word,” she says quietly, and the two of them step just into the hallway. About a minute later, Rose reenters the classroom with her TA, making an angry beeline for her seat at the lab table.

When she sits down again, her lab partner glances at her out of the corner of his eye; but he doesn’t say anything. To _think_ she’d found him cute, with his accent and his bright blue eyes and that shiny red hair all clean-cut and carefully styled… fucking _asshole_. She’s so mad—she’s so mad she could _scream_ —but instead she focuses on the test in front of her, doubling down to try to remember the formula she knows she’s messed up on question 7. For the next half-hour she channels all her energy into completing the test. “You probably won’t finish,” Phasma had said at the start of lab. “Don’t panic. As always, the exam will be curved.”

When Phasma calls time, Rose is retracting the lead on her mechanical pencil. _Not a moment too soon_. She’s fairly certain she’s messed up on at least a couple of problems, but she’d managed to put down an answer for every question.

Phasma instructs them to pass their papers to the end of the row and is giving them some last-minute announcements about their next lab; but Rose feels her lab partner’s eyes on her.

  
“You know what?” she reaches into the front pocket of her backpack. “Here. _This_ is what I was digging out of my bag, you absolute _moron_.” She dumps the tampon on the desk in front of him.

The stuck-up redhead glances at the thing, taking in the pink plastic wrapper before pushing it back toward Rose. “What you pulled out of your bag was white. Looked like paper,” he sniffs.

“ _They have different wrappers_ ,” Rose hisses, pulling another out of her front zipper pocket and brandishing it at him. The wrapper of this one is more predominantly white with just a few light-pink swirls.

Hux glances at the tampon with distaste. “How was I to know?”

“How were you _not_ —are you _kidding_ me? Don’t you have a girlfriend, or a sister, or a mom—hell, even my best friend who’s not interested in women knows that we _menstruate_!”

Hux seems to bristle a little, but instead of opening his mouth he just stands and starts to leave.

“No. Hey!” Rose grabs for him, snagging his sleeve. “You accused me of _cheating_!” He pulls his arm away quickly, but when he turns back to look at her, Rose can see that his face is warming. Just a few more moments and he’ll resemble a tomato. She almost laughs. A past version of herself would have found it adorable—but she’s too full of angry energy. Instead she just stares him down, waiting for his apology.

“I thought you were,” is all he says, the accent making him sound even more stuck-up.

Rose grinds her teeth and watches him leave without another word.

**.**

**3:56 p.m.**

**rzteacup:** oh you are not gonna fucking beLIEVE what my day has been like

**rzteacup:** your species is SO. FUCKING. STUPID!!!!!!

**rmtghx:** Species?

**rzteacup:** ok so when a woman pulls something out of her bag and excuses herself to go to the bathroom

**rzteacup:** it’s because she’s BLEEDING

**rzteacup:** from her VAGINA

**rzteacup:** and NOT because she’s CHEATING on a PHYSICS EXAM

**rzteacup:** !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**rzteacup:** I know it’s like three weeks in the semester but so help me GOD I am going to my TA to SWITCH LAB PARTNERS

**rzteacup:** God he’s such a DICK

**rmtghx:** The lab partner?

**rzteacup:** Y E S

**rzteacup:** stupid fucking jealous stuck-up British ASSHOLE

**rzteacup:** APPARENTLY never even seen a tampon before

**rzteacup:** does he live under a fucking ROCK

**rzteacup:** if you’ll excuse me I need to take some ADVIL and go CURL UP IN A BALL AND DIE because my UTERUS HURTS

**rzteacup:** and if you don’t hear from me again it’s because I’m in JAIL

**rzteacup:** because I MURDERED that FUCKING GINGER IDIOT

**rzteacup:** SORRY I AM VERY ALL CAPS

**rzteacup:** SOS SEND CHOCOLATE

Whether Teacup says anything else next is lost to Hux for approximately the next four minutes, as his phone goes one way and the rest of him goes another. Even the surprise of falling down a particularly steep set of stairs isn’t enough to overtake the shock he’d begun to feel as the messages poured into his chat app.

When he’s recovered—when a concerned bystander has brought him his phone and ascertained that he hasn’t broken anything—he opens the app again, blindly sending three chocolate bar emojis to buy some time to think.

At the other end of the chat is his best friend and closest confidant, a girl he’d met (of all places) in the YouTube comments section of a video from a Starkiller concert. At this point he knows at least a million things about her—her favorite meal, her tendency to overbook her own schedule, her hectic living situation (three roommates, two of whom are a gay couple who spent their entire first year living in the apartment pretending _not_ to be in love), the way she’s lived her life in the shadow of her beloved older sister—the standard made more impossible when her sister had died, compounded as it was by grief. He’s had no idea what she looks like, no hints about where she lived, only a generic idea of a university schedule that didn’t surprise him when it matched up with his—don’t most schools run on the same schedule? Or was that stupid to think?

Because now—now there is no disputing that the girl at the other end of the chat is _also_ his lab partner Rose Tico, whose sudden flash of temper at the end of class had been a surprising departure from her regular sunny personality. His lab partner, who is so far breezing through their physics course but for a couple of misremembered formulas, who has explained problems in the lab manual two, three, four times if he needs them, trying to help him understand. His annoyingly chipper and high-achieving lab partner, who had stopped during today’s test to slip something out of her backpack into her pocket, glancing around suspiciously as if checking to see if anyone had seen her. Hux knew the look of someone hiding something; he’d called it right away, gone to Phasma as soon as the girl left the room.

He’s in a daze as he walks home from the sciences building. It makes sense, in a way. When he first met his lab partner, her name had slightly resembled Teacup’s handle, but he’d written it off as serendipity. Ridiculous. She didn’t strike him as a Starkiller fan, the cheerful, petite girl in sorority letters who’d blown into the classroom at the last minute to take the seat next to him—one of only two or three open seats left. He’d fully expected to have to do all the labs himself, to report to the TA week after week that his ditzy partner didn’t deserve credit. Instead, she’d become his reluctant tutor, smiling through his icy replies and remaining almost infuriatingly patient. So what if Teacup was also in a sorority. The idea that she was _also_ his lab partner was just too far-fetched.

Or, well. Apparently not.

He’s standing in his living room now with absolutely zero recollection of arriving there. A loud curse from the back of the house doesn’t startle him so much as bring him back into awareness as he checks his phone out of habit.

First there’s the chat app:

**4:18 p.m.**

**rzteacup:** TA says we can’t switch. partners are set. FML

**rzteacup:** also I was being a total jerk

**rzteacup:** sorry for all the period talk

**rzteacup:** but srsly gonna take some Advil and pass out

Then there’s a text, the first in a new conversation, erasing any last ounce of doubt he may have had:

**4:21 p.m.**

**PHYS Lab Partner Rose Tico:** It’s Rose from Physics lab. I’m sorry I snapped at you today.

Hux stares down at the phone, imagining ways to break this new revelation to her— _hey, it’s me!_ Any way he slices it, it seems like a terrible idea—especially after how he’d acted today.

“What are you doing?” Ben comes into the living room, gnawing on a piece of toast. “You’ve been standing there staring at your phone for the last five minutes.”

Hux glances back down at the phone again, toggling between the messaging apps as he writes careful replies. First, his texts:

**4:26 p.m.**

**Me:** Not my finest moment either.

Then the chat app:

**4:26 p.m.**

**rmtghx:** Nolite.

It’s shorthand for one of her favorite quotes, some fake-Latin about perseverance. At this point all he needs to say is the first word—they both know the rest.

Ben has finished his toast and is watching him as if he’s grown two heads. Hux shrugs. “Playing double agent.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Tuesday**

**6:17 p.m.**

**rmtghx:** In other news, my roommate almost gave me a black eye when I came home yesterday.

**rzteacup:** story??

**rzteacup:** I mean sorry, ow, that sucks

**rzteacup:** but also… story????

**rmtghx:** Honestly touching how deeply you care for me.

**rzteacup:** tbh wouldn’t be surprised if you deserved it

**rmtghx:** He’s just exceptionally sensitive. I said something and he took it the wrong way.

Rose snorts.

“What’s up with Internet Boy?” Rey asks from across the room, where she’s practically inhaling a sandwich.

Rose scrunches up her nose, considering a reply. “Bad day I guess. His roommate almost beat him up?”

“Did he deserve it?”

Rose hums. “Not sure. I mean, probably not. I can’t imagine him really doing anything to warrant that.”

“But you also don’t know.”

“Well, I know that they’re both older. Like, the roommate took some gap years, and Internet Boy had some family stuff that kept him out of college the first few years, so like—they’re mature.”

“That doesn’t sound very ‘mature,’” Rey says, taking another giant bite of her dinner. A glob of mustard has affixed itself to her chin; she wipes at it with one knuckle without letting go of the sandwich. Rose gives her a pointed look.

Rey licks the mustard off her finger. “I’m just looking out for you, Rosie.”

Rose types out another message. “It’s not like anything’s ever going to _actually_ happen, and we both know it.” She indicates herself and Rey, but she’s thinking of him too, her friend whom Rey has dubbed Internet Boy—last Friday had been Valentine’s, and yet neither of them had made a single mention of it. Instead he’d made some joke about getting a cat, and they’d spent twenty minutes imagining the perfect cat for him.

_ginger for sure. tabby?_ Rose had suggested, thinking about the only real-life boy she’d been even remotely crushing on lately—her ginger-haired lab partner Hux. Internet Boy had agreed and they’d volleyed names back and forth, finally settling on “Millicent.”

_Hux_ , Rose thinks, remembering to be angry at him all over again. What a colossal _jerk_. Pretty eyes? _Fuck_ those pretty eyes.

**.**

**6:22 p.m.**

**rzteacup:** hey maybe I can borrow your roommate

**rzteacup:** sic him on my lab partner

Hux chokes on the water he was drinking, inhaling sharply to send it shooting out of his nose.

“Good God, man. Don’t fucking die,” Ben says from the kitchen table.

“You’re no help,” Hux says, glaring halfheartedly. He’d narrowly missed Ben’s fists yesterday afternoon, realizing in retrospect that “double agent” was a poor choice of words. They’d talked it out—logically, the idea of Hux double-timing was ridiculous. He’d never dated a girl steadily, certainly never seriously. Plus this was the _same_ girl thinking _he_ was two different people. It was different.

**6:23 p.m.**

**rmtghx:** I mean.

**rmtghx:** He can be surprisingly effective.

**.**

**Wednesday**

**2:00 p.m.**

**rzteacup:** Room To Ghax

**rmtghx:** Oh God.

**rzteacup:** Rummy Toes Get Hix

**rmtghx:** You only get worse at this, haven’t you realized?

**rzteacup:** ARM. TUG. HOAX.

She’s dangerously close this time, and Hux looks out at the Quad as he walks, racking his brain to try to remember if he’d given his full name during lab. She has his phone number. He’d introduced himself as “Hux.” His email starts with just an “a,” but if you type university emails into the TO bar, don’t they show full names—? He bluffs.

**2:09 p.m.**

**rmtghx:** Extremely no.

**rzteacup:** one day. ONE DAY, MARK MY WORDSSS

Hux sighs in relief. If she’s going to find out he’s her lab partner, he’d like to be sure she actually _likes_ him first. Or at least doesn’t want to murder him in his sleep.

**rmtghx:** Marked.

**.**

**8:49 p.m.**

**rzteacup:** RAMATAGAHAX

Hux chokes on his beer.

“Again?” Ben says boredly from across the room where he’s flipping through TV channels.

**rmtghx:** That’s the second beverage I’ve inhaled this week as a result of your shenanigans.

**rmtghx:** Keep this up and I might actually die.

**rzteacup:** aww don’t die

**rzteacup:** who else can I annoy during stupid meetings?

**rmtghx:** Happy to hear how highly you value my friendship.

**.**

Rose tunes in again just in time to hear the president of her sorority announce another date party. There’s some tittering from the girls around her but an almost equally-proportionate number of groans. Her phone vibrates again.

**8:55 p.m.**

**rmtghx:** But in all seriousness. How are you this evening? Better than earlier this week?

**rzteacup:** better.

**rzteacup:** lab partner kind of apologized?

**rzteacup:** I mean it was a shitty apology, but.

**rzteacup:** I really wish you were a frat boy

**rmtghx:** I’m… not sure how to take that?

**rmtghx:** We’ve switched topics now, yes?  
  


**rzteacup:** disclaimer, I have hormones, but like

**rzteacup:** we have all these stupid date parties

**rzteacup:** and I always end up with some douchebag

**rzteacup:** I just can’t help but think how much I wish I could be with someone I genuinely want to spend time with

_This is dumb_ , Rose is telling herself even after she sends her messages, but a wealth of pitiful emotion seems to bubble up inside of her. It’s this time of year, too—the memories of Paige are getting to her, making her feel even lonelier. They probably have totally different career paths, totally divergent lives, so it’s stupid. _So_ stupid. So stupid how much she wishes he was more than words on a screen.

**rmtghx:** How do you know I’m not a frat boy?

**rzteacup:** please. this one’s too easy

**rzteacup:** 1\. your sense of humor indicates that you possess a brain rather than a skull full of peanuts

**rzteacup:** 2\. grammar, obviously

**rzteacup:** 3\. your taste in music isn’t Top 40 or Country Hits (says something about my school, huh?)

**rzteacup:** 4\. you haven’t attempted to send me pictures of your anatomy ONCE in the half-year we’ve been talking

**rmtghx:** Good Lord.

**rzteacup:** 5\. I actually like you.

**rmtghx:** So that happens a lot? Dick pics?

**rzteacup:** THAT’S what you got out of that?

**rzteacup:** also yes

**rmtghx:** So you’re forced to go on dates with frat boys?

**rzteacup:** kind of?

**rzteacup:** I mean you don’t have to spend a ton of time with them once the party gets going

**rzteacup:** but you also have to attend so many events

**rmtghx:** And you enjoy this?

**rzteacup:** I guess there was a time I thought I would.

Chapter is finally over, so Rose gets up to leave, weaving through the sea of other girls, fixing her gaze straight ahead when she passes down the long hallway decorated with composite pictures from years past. She knows the exact moment she’s passing the picture that includes her sister, knows the instant it’s so far out of her peripheral vision that she can drop her shoulders and relax.

She’d had a few friends last year as a bright-eyed freshman—a few “sisters” who filled the real-sister void. But the girls who had known Paige soon realized that Rose was a separate person—a little more reserved, a little less dazzlingly-beautiful, a little too sincere with her corny jokes—and gradually they talked to her less and less. She’d been thinking of transferring when she replied to Internet Boy’s comment on a Starkiller video.

At the time it seemed stupid, the kind of thing supremely lonely people do—seek out other people’s stories in the comment wall of a favorite song. But he’d written back, and she’d written back, and after a few more exchanges they’d moved to the chat app to continue. The video was a live performance of “Shadowed,” and something about Internet Boy had struck her: if she was lonely enough to find him, then he was the same kind of lonely to respond. There was comfort in that, in having that implicit common ground.

He’s intensely private, even after a year, giving her only small clues about himself—certainly no name (or clues to his username) and no specifics. But he’s in college like her. He’s a handful of years older than most of his classmates and has a great sarcastic sense of humor, but aside from his roommate he doesn’t mention any friends. He’s got a shaky relationship with family—it’s not something he likes to discuss. And he’s kind—so _achingly_ kind. Rey says he could be a sociopath, that he knows what he’s doing, or else that he’s catfishing her in some diabolical plan—but Rey has problems with trust. He’s a real lifeline, this boy from the internet Rose spills her guts to.

**9:06 p.m.**

**rmtghx:** Do they at least play Starkiller sometimes at these parties?

**rzteacup:** I wish!!

**rzteacup:** pretty sure the number one playlist criterion is “can we bump and grind to this”

**rmtghx:** You definitely do not want to see me attempt that.

Rose smiles softly to herself as she climbs into her car. She’s no good at imagining Internet Boy’s voice, no good at trying to conjure a face that matches his wit, so over the last few months she’s settled on imagining his hands. His hands gripping a cell phone, carefully capitalizing and punctuating his quips. His hands rubbing her shoulders, massaging, after a particularly long day. One hand covering hers, threading their fingers—she imagines his fingers long and elegant, slightly cool to the touch. Some nights she’s nodded off to imagining his hands covering other places on her body, his fingers working in ways she’s only ever read about in romance novels.

She’s thinking of his hands on her hips, pulling her body back against his. The heat of his fingers in contrast to chill February air, the hard planes of his body behind her, something _else_ hard pressing urgently into the back of her dress.

**rzteacup:** I don’t know. you might be surprised

**.**

Hux knows he’s flushed—he can feel his ears warming as he reads her message again. Now that he knows his Teacup is Rose Tico, he’s found her on social media. She has a barely-accessible Facebook page and a different Instagram handle, but the more pictures he sees of her, the more he—just can’t _help_ himself. She has a beautiful smile, Rose; and even as he knows she’s less than enthusiastic about her sorority involvement, she looks like she _belongs_ in every picture.

Hux doesn’t have social media. He has his YouTube account—for subscriptions, not for making videos—and email, both under his neutral handle. He’s taken steps to be sure his father never finds him; the university has the court orders and strict instructions. Ben’s heard all of it and more; as Hux’s roommate, he knows about the guns—the one in the false drawer of his nightstand and the one in the kitchen. It’s all a precaution—Brendol Hux is locked away for murder—but if he ever comes knocking, he’ll leave in a body bag.

_Still_ , Hux thinks as he thumbs through Rose’s pictures. He was disgusted to hear about the frat boys—to try to imagine how many male _members_ Rose has been made to view in her short time as a sorority sister. He means what he says—he’s not the frat type, not very interested in hanging out with most of the regularly-college-aged set (it’s a little bit of a shock, really, how different twenty-five feels from, say, twenty or twenty-one)—but he finds himself wishing even more that he could be there for her, protect her.

Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined he’d ever meet Teacup, but now he has a face—a face, and a figure in a tight red dress, and a thousand-watt smile to fit into his fantasies. If Teacup had been _half_ as pretty he would’ve been head-over-heels. Honestly he’s still reeling, still bracing himself on every staircase. Knowing that Teacup is _right there_ , just within reach, is almost too much to bear. He has no idea how he’ll make it through their next physics lab.

**.**

**Thursday**

**9:14 a.m.**

**rmtghx:** Starkiller, though. I could dance to that.

Rose is brushing her teeth when the latest message from Internet Boy comes through, a continuation of last night’s wistful flirtation.

**rzteacup:** not much of a dancing band, are they?

“Hey Rose?”

“Yah,” Rose answers through a mouthful of toothpaste, reaching behind her to open the bathroom door.

Rey is standing in the doorway with her arms crossed in front of her chest. It’s a little chilly in the house, but Rose hates to see her like that—trying to make herself look smaller, trying not to take up space. It’s a foster care thing, a survival thing; Rey’s explained it before. But Rose can’t help but feel that she’s always failing to get through to the other girl.

Rose lifts her eyebrows, indicating that Rey should continue. She tries to smile, but there’s a foam of toothpaste in the way. She turns back to the sink to spit just in time to catch her phone lighting up with new messages.

**rmtghx:** Some songs.

**rmtghx:** “Across the Stars.”

**rmtghx:** We’d do it old-style. Your hand on my shoulder, my hand on your waist. Not a waltz, but it would fit.

“Across the Stars” is a love theme—melancholy but sweet. It’s silly. It’s improbable. It’s an idea that Rose is certain will never, ever come true, but she’s already stopped listening to Rey, already imagining Internet Boy’s hand at her waist.

**.**

**9:24 a.m.**

**rzteacup:** well.

**rzteacup:** now that I know what you think about that

**rzteacup:** it’s settled.

**rzteacup:** if I ever meet you, you are obligated to dance “Across the Stars” with me.

**rzteacup:** it is a requirement.

**rzteacup:** I will take no arguments or protests.

Hux’s heart is beating faster—near to beating out of his chest. His breathing becomes labored as he realizes there’s a persistent pounding on the front door. _Gun_. He fumbles for the nightstand, reaching under the drawer for the secret release with a shaking hand before he’s able to comprehend the second noise he’s hearing—this phone buzzing with a new phone call. _Ben Solo_ , the caller ID reads.

The call ends before Hux can pick up; the pounding continues. He’s fighting for breath as he stumbles out of bed and toward the front door. As soon as he clears the hallway he’s able to make out that it’s his roommate at the door, illuminated in the morning light through the side windows.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Ben says when Hux manages to get the door open.

Hux imagines what he looks like—a pathetic, sniveling mess. He still can’t catch his breath.

“Have a seat,” Ben is saying, herding him back inside without touching him. In moments Hux is seated on the couch, repeating back random strings of numbers to his hulking, sweaty roommate. The panic starts to subside. His lungs start to inflate with oxygen again.

“I’m sorry,” Ben is saying again. “I forgot my key and my phone died. I could barely get it to turn on long enough to call, and I have class at ten.”

Hux just shakes his head “no,” trying to wave Ben away.

“Hey.” His friend’s eyes bore into him, seeing him more than he wants to be seen. “I get it.”

Hux stands. “It’s nothing.”

“You still going?”

Hux rests his hands on the couch cushions on either side of him, focusing on the texture, on quelling the panic. He thinks of the campus health center, the side-corridor that leads to counseling. “Tomorrow afternoon,” he mumbles.

Ben nods, just standing there. This is the part where Ben would offer him a hand up, maybe clap him on the back in a bro-hug—but Ben knows better than to try. In a moment he’s off to shower and Hux returns to his room, pulling off his t-shirt to rid himself of the horrible cold-sweat feeling. He picks up the discarded phone and rereads the most recent messages, catching a glimpse of himself in the closet mirror.

_Skinny. Pale. Useless_. Sure she’s sick of frat boys throwing themselves at her, but after all of them he knows she’d be disappointed to see him like this. Like _this_ specifically, his limbs still feeling shaky from the automatic terror-response Ben’s knocking had triggered. He sends his next message, full aware of how strongly it smacks of lie:

**9:37 a.m.**

**rmtghx:** If we ever meet, I promise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Friday**

**3:35 p.m.**

**rzteacup:** my roommate just started a new job working with a professor

**rzteacup:** who has a nephew who is also a student and they met somehow?

**rzteacup:** and anyway she is no joke HEAD OVER HEELS

**rzteacup:** what’s new in your world?

**rmtghx:** Just got out of a doctor’s appointment.

Hux slips his phone into his pocket as he leaves the health center to cross the street toward the library. He has interlibrary loans for a literature paper that he needs to pick up. That, and a good walk will do him good.

_Therapy isn’t a sign of weakness, you know_ , Maz had said, peering over her glasses. _Your leg doesn’t work? Going to the doctor is common sense. But all of a sudden the chemicals in your brain don’t work and you think that’s something to be ashamed of? Go to the doctor! I think it would do you good to open up a bit more, be more vulnerable with others._ He’d been telling the doctor about Teacup—in a roundabout way, leaving out the “and now she’s my lab partner” bit. For all Maz’s quirks, though, Hux trusts her. Maybe it’s her obvious old age or her wisecracks, but she has an air of wisdom to her that makes her seem especially good at her job.

Hux can feel his phone buzzing in his pocket, but he continues on a moment in ignorance, instead observing the bright blue sky. When he finally unlocks the phone again he has a number of messages from Teacup, in rapid succession:

**rzteacup:** are you well????

**rzteacup:** sorry, that’s nosy

**rzteacup:** but you’re kind of one of my best friends

**rzteacup:** and I would care a lot if something happened to you

**rzteacup:** that’s not weird to say, right?

Hux makes for the elevators, taking his time to contemplate what he wants to say. On the way he passes large clusters of computer desks, workstations surrounded by circles of couches, the periodical lounge area, the printer cluster—but it’s not until he’s waiting at the elevators (one of them is out of order, as always) that he _sees_ the other students occupying the library. Significantly, one particular student.

Just two clusters back from the elevators, Rose Tico is sharing a table with some other girls. The table is covered in binders and pencil cases and different beverages—all the makings of a sorority-sister study session—but where the other girls are highlighting textbooks or sending Snapchats, Rose is staring down at something on the desk, her mouth drawn into a tight line of worry.

The elevator dings, but Hux doesn’t move to step in. Instead he types a message:

**rmtghx:** Don’t worry.

Rose springs into action, grabbing for the object—her phone. In moments he has a new message—

**rzteacup:** your ok right?

**rzteacup:** sorry bad gramamr

**rzteacup:** ugh sorry

He thinks of saying something like “oh, just a check-up.” He could embellish—call it the dentist. But Maz’s encouragement makes him want to be honest. Or at least a fraction _more_ honest than he would be otherwise.

**rmtghx:** Working on it.

**rzteacup:** do you have to have something done? surgery? blood donor?

**rzteacup:** I don’t know my blood type but I’ll find out if you need it

**rzteacup:** you don’t have cancer right????

**rzteacup:** tell me you don’t have cancer

**rmtghx:** I don’t have cancer.

**rzteacup:** sorry

**rzteacup:** sorry I’m definitely overreacting

**rzteacup:** this has just been A Week

**rzteacup:** in case you couldn’t tell

**rmtghx:** I appreciate your concern. Not that kind of doctor’s appointment.

He types another line. Hesitates. Hits “send.”

**rmtghx:** What I’m trying to say is I go to therapy.

Across the room, Hux watches as Rose nods at her phone. The messages come rapid-fire again:

**rzteacup:** ok

**rzteacup:** I’m sorry  
  


**rzteacup:** you’re the only friend who knows what a mess I really am

**rzteacup:** I think sometimes you end up on the receiving end of all my nervous energy

**rzteacup:** all week it’s been nothing but worst-case-scenario

**rzteacup:** also thank you for telling me.

He’s watching her again as she relaxes her shoulders, sitting back and reassessing the other objects on the table. Her expression relaxes, too, her frown smoothing into something more neutral.

**rzteacup:** you know I went too for half a year after

**rzteacup:** it’s different for everybody

**rzteacup:** but I know it’s harder for guys to ask for help when they need it

**rzteacup:** I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself

**rzteacup:** I really care about you

**rzteacup:** sorry I said that already. obviously I really mean it

The elevators have come and gone several times now, and it occurs to Hux that other people nearby very well may have noticed him staring down a girl across the room. He turns and hits the button again, but the readout shows the elevator stopped on the seventh floor—there’s time still.

He writes one more message, looking up for Rose’s reaction.

**rmtghx:** I would care a lot if something happened to you, too.

But she’s too busy digging in her backpack. The elevator _ding_ s behind him and Hux tears his eyes away from Rose, finally stepping into the elevator car. He selects the button for the third floor, peering out toward Rose’s table; but instead of looking at her phone, she’s glancing around the room. Just as the doors close she makes eye contact with him, her eyebrows drawing together in a frown, quickly looking elsewhere the way a person does when they’re hoping not to be noticed.

Hux’s shoulders slump. _Well, that’s that_.

**.**

**Saturday**

**8:11 a.m.**

**rzteacup:** I would kill for coffee right now

**rmtghx:** It’s a perfectly reasonable hour for coffee.

**rmtghx:** What are you doing that’s preventing you from having some?

**rzteacup:** I mean I had some two hours ago… but that was two hours ago

**rmtghx:** That’s still quite early in the morning for you, isn’t it?

**rzteacup:** you have no idea.

**rmtghx:** Again, what are you up to?

**rzteacup:** pledge retreat.

**rmtghx:** I know both of those words, and yet your answer looks like total nonsense.

Rose rolls her eyes. Luckily, she’s not in any kind of leadership role for this retreat, so she’s not involved in any of the really intense planning—but the fact remains that right now she’s seated on a damp wooden bench.

**rzteacup:** I’m stuck sitting on the quad for a scavenger hunt

**rzteacup:** you know, the usual sorority bs

**rmtghx:** Can’t one of your “sisters” get you something?

**rzteacup:** not the top priority right now :/

**rmtghx:** Is the weather nice?

**rzteacup:** eh

**rzteacup:** kind of chilly, lots of fog

**rzteacup:** a little?

**rzteacup:** we haven’t had any snow this year so there’s that, but like

**rzteacup:** they’re still making me sit outside in February

**rmtghx:** Well, enjoy your undercaffeinated suffering.

**rmtghx:** I’m going back to sleep.

**rzteacup:** that’s what YOU think!!!

For the next hour, she sends him memes. The stupidest she can find, completely sans context. He’s probably turned off notifications, so as not to be disturbed, but Operation Annoy Internet Boy is much more interesting than Operation Sit on a Wet Bench Waiting for Freshmen. Finally he writes back, messages she reads with a grin during lunch:

**11:43 a.m.**

**rmtghx:** So.

**rmtghx:** Write me again when you’ve recovered your brain.

**.**

**Sunday**

**3:00 p.m.**

**rzteacup:** ROMOTOGOHOX

**rzteacup:** room

**rzteacup:** to go

**rzteacup:** ……………Halifax

**rzteacup:** I know, I know, that’s super wrong

**rzteacup:** you’re a dumb enigma

**rmtghx:** And that’s… a compliment?

**rzteacup:** a dumb one

**rmtghx:** Well, you said it yourself.

**.**

**Monday**

Hux is almost late to lab on purpose. Rose—Teacup—hasn’t mentioned anything else about it, but he knows she hasn’t forgotten his stupidity from the previous week. Of course, arriving late doesn’t change that he’s going to have to spend the entire two-and-a-half-hour period talking to her; and things don’t appear to be looking up when the day’s assignment is to work together on the problems they’ve missed on the exam. Rose managed to answer all the questions and only got a handful wrong—where Hux skipped the entire last page and barely squeaked by with sixty percent of the questions he completed correct. He is in no way qualified to offer her help, and when she finishes looking over the problems she missed (she finds her errors immediately), he’s embarrassed by her polite offer of assistance.

“It would take too long. If you let me copy your answers I’ll study on my own later,” he insists.

“Copy my answers? That sounds a lot like _cheating_.”

Hux’s ears burn under her frown, and he busies himself by flipping through the pages of the test. “I’m sorry for that. I really am.”

“Of course you are,” she says coolly. “It doesn’t seem like you’re going to pass this class without me, now, does it?”

Hux winces inwardly, trying not to show on his face how much that hurts.

“Give it over,” she says, reaching for his test. Then she starts explaining problems to him, asking him questions and writing on his paper in purple ink.

Sitting this close to her he can smell the sweet shampoo she uses, can imagine how her small body would fit against his in an embrace. It’s a thought that drives him to utter distraction, confused by his own wanting—he _hates_ being touched. “Unresolved childhood trauma” and all that. _But maybe, if it was Rose…_

At the end of each problem she checks with him that he understands. Always he lies and says “yes,” and when they’ve finished she packs her backpack neatly and is out the door before he can get in another word.

It’s everything he can do not to message her immediately, but instead he makes himself wait. He looks back through last Monday’s messages, checking the timestamps so as not to raise suspicion. He’s home—early—and has to wait a solid ten more minutes before it finally feels safe to message her.

**4:02 p.m.**

**rmtghx:** How’s the lab partner from hell?

**rzteacup:** not very good at physics.

**rzteacup:** lol

**rzteacup:** …that’s unkind but also he accused me of cheating so I think I’ve earned it

**rzteacup:** I swear he didn’t hear a single word I said to him today, but whatever

Hux only sighs, dropping the phone onto the bed beside him. _You have no idea_.

**.**

Rose sees the message notification and closes Instagram, thumbing to the chat app; she can’t bring herself to do homework just yet. Or get out of bed.

**7:30 p.m.**

**rmtghx:** Maybe he couldn’t concentrate next to someone so brilliant.

Rose blushes in spite of herself. But no. This is stupid and impossible. She writes:

**rzteacup:** stop flirting so much.

She regrets it almost as soon as she’s sent it—the tone seems all wrong, too harsh. Self-consciously, she backtracks.

**rzteacup:** or whatever

**rzteacup:** I’m not a cliché sorority bombshell

**rzteacup:** I’m really very ordinary.

**rmtghx:** I find that incredibly hard to believe.

**rmtghx:** And “ordinary” isn’t the opposite of brilliance.

**rmtghx:** I’m saying you emit light.

**rmtghx:** You brighten my days.

In the kitchen, Rey is baking cookies—the kind that come as a tube of refrigerated dough, that you just scoop into even lumps and pop in the oven. Like anything Rey cooks, they’ll inevitably burn before she remembers them; but the loud, laughing voices of Finn and Poe drift down the hallway into her bedroom along with the sweet aroma of chocolate and sugar.

Rose loves her friends—she really does. But even around Rey she always feels a little like an outsider. She imagines, for a moment, that Internet Boy is curled around her in bed, his long fingers combing through her hair, his head pillowed on her chest. She was content to let Valentine’s Day pass with little fanfare, buying a few bags of discounted chocolate the day after for her roommates; but now, shut up in her room while everyone else seems to be having fun, she _wants_ her imaginings so much it hurts. Rose blinks against the sudden sting of tears in her eyes and fires off a quick response, her heart leaping into her throat.

**rzteacup:** I wish I could meet you in real life, dear friend.

His response isn’t instant. In fact, it’s delayed—delayed enough that the phone goes dark in her hand. She drops it onto the bed, staring at the dark screen and willing it to light up with a notification. She’s crying in earnest when he finally answers, bracing herself for the worst; and the tears don’t stop when she finally reads his reply.

**7:47 p.m.**

**rmtghx:** Me too.

**.**

Hux wanders into the living room. Ben is already in there, playing Mario Kart.

“Hey,” Ben says without taking his eyes off the screen.

Hux echoes the greeting, flopping down onto the chair in the corner—his usual spot. He opens his regular text messages, staring at their single brief exchange as lab partners. Tries for the millionth time in the last week to figure out how to broach the subject. He can imagine it a hundred different ways, the moment in which Rose’s face falls, her features drawn in an expression of abject disappointment upon the revelation that her “dear friend” is also the lab partner she can’t stand to be around. That’ll be it—the end to all this.

Certainly Hux expected an end to this at some point. And there had been quiet moments, days without messages. But talking to Teacup—it’s really everything he’s told her. The bright spots to so many dark days, even when she was nothing but text on a screen, a username.

Now—he can’t help the _wanting_. More than once this week he’s awoken sticky and mortified from dreams about her mouth and hands on him. Hell, he’d spent half of today’s lab trying not to be obvious as he breathed in the subtle smells of her shampoo and lip balm, stealing glances at her lips when she was occupied with the test questions. He can only imagine it’s going to get worse, this _thing_ he can’t help but feel for her.

The music in the game speeds up, and Hux’s attention is drawn back to the TV: Ben is playing as Yoshi and struggling to keep up. It’s one of the Bowser’s Castle stages, the frantic last lap.

Hux starts to type a message, backspacing each time after just a few words. On screen, Ben gets rammed by Donkey Kong mid-jump and falls into the lava, cursing as he has to wait for Lakitu to fish him out.

Hux drops his phone onto the side table. _Yeah. Right_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone reading and commenting so far! For a while I was so worried about the characterization that I considered abandoning this story, but in the end I decided to just go for it. It feels great to see the positive comments and kudos and know y'all are enjoying this version of them, too!

**Tuesday**

**5:12 p.m.**

**rzteacup:** why don’t we meet?

**rzteacup:** we’re both in the U.S., right? it seems like we’re on roughly the same time zone

**rzteacup:** is that crazy?

Rey huddles over Rose’s phone with her, perched beside her on Rose’s bed. “Wait. Canada? Mexico?”

“I doubt he’s in Mexico.”

“Why not?” Rey shrugs.

**rzteacup:** or at least we’re on the same continent, yeah?

Rose’s hands are shaking when she hits “send,” realizing it’s time to wait for him to answer. Rey gently extracts the phone from her hand, putting it facedown on the bed out of Rose’s reach. “And now we have dinner.”

“Rey,” Rose clenches her hands, trying to restrain herself from leaning across Rey to grab the phone. “Rey, I—I want the phone back.”

“No,” Rey says firmly. “Remember? Send and forget. That was the plan.”

“But I’m not hungry.”

“That’s just what you think. Finn made spaghetti.”

“But I won’t be able to eat unless I know—”

“Want me to check it? Want me to check it right now?”

“Yes,” Rose’s breath of relief is instant.

Rey abruptly stands up, grabbing for the phone and stepping out of Rose’s reach. “No reply yet. And it’s been a whopping— _one minute_ since your last message. No, wait— _two_ minutes. Let’s eat.”

Rose grabs for the phone, but Rey is faster. “Out! Out!” Rey fends her off, kicking at her; Rose tries to grab for Rey’s foot while simultaneously reaching for the phone. It’s silly and unsuccessful and enough of a distraction to make her laugh. Rey shoves her out of her own bedroom and follows her out into the hallway, closing the door firmly with the phone behind it.

**.**

**8:37 p.m.**

“He’s probably just busy!” Rose says cheerfully as she takes another bite of Rocky Road. “You know? Sometimes it takes _me_ hours to answer.”

“Absolutely,” Rey agrees, turning the volume down on the TV so that the characters on the crime drama fade to a low murmur.

“And after all that stuff he said last night?”

Rey gives another affirmative nod.

Rose is babbling. She’s fully aware of it. She’s a broken record, the same few sentiments over and over for the last three hours. She knows what she’ll say next but still she says it: “You don’t just say that and disappear. And also? Also? Who wouldn’t want to meet their best internet friend?”

“Exactly.” Rey offers her a golden oreo.

“Exactly.”

**.**

**11:43 p.m.**

“Good night!” Rose calls softly down the hallway, smiling and waving at Rey.

“’Night,” Rey calls back, her smile cautious.

Rose closes the door as if nothing is amiss. But there’s the notification on the screen—the notification from over twenty minutes ago that indicates a new message in the chat app. Whatever it says, however much Rey is ready to be there for her, Rose knows this is something she’ll have to do alone.

She’s brushed her teeth, washed her face, packed her bag for classes tomorrow. She arranges the covers. _He’s just been busy_ , she keeps telling herself. _It’ll be good. It has to be good_. As she changes into pajamas, she takes care to drop her clothes into the hamper, to close the dresser drawer, to shut the closet all the way. She climbs into bed and reaches to turn off the lamp. _If he’s still talking to me, it’s good. That’s all I need, really. That’s really all I need._

Of course, when she reads his messages, she can’t help it. Her stomach drops.

**rmtghx:** I don’t think now is the time, Teacup.

**rmtghx:** But I’d like that, someday.

**.**

**Wednesday**

**8:30 p.m.**

**rzteacup:** I’m skipping chapter because yesterday really messed me up. I want you to know it still hurts that you said all of that and then said “not now.” I don’t understand what I’ve been getting from you lately and it’s really hard.

It’s literally the longest message she’s ever sent, and Hux has never felt less like he deserves her. He sends the only response he’s been able to imagine, lame and inadequate as it is.

**rmtghx:** It’s just this semester, Teacup.

**rmtghx:** I’m sorry.

**.**

**Friday**

**11:04 p.m.**

**rmtghx:** I let my roommate drag me out tonight. Probably the worst decision.

When the speakers blare the first few beats of “Baby One More Time,” Hux is about to admit defeat. Ben be damned, he can _not_ take another second in this godforsaken bar. He’s trying to push through the crowds toward an exit when a girl just on his left screeches, “Go _Rosie_!”

He hesitates just long enough to turn and glance up toward the karaoke stage. There, just to the left of the girl with the microphone, is Rose Tico. There are four girls on stage overall, all of them performing the exact same dance routine, but once Hux’s eyes lock on Rose the other girls might as well be invisible.

She’s wearing some sort of fitted dress—long sleeves with a shorter skirt—with heels, all red; and the way she swings her hips and tosses her hair is pure confidence. He’s entranced by her expression, watching her slip in and out of character: she glances sidelong at one of the other girls, grinning in a way that looks like she’s having the _most_ fun, and then she turns her attention back to the audience, putting on the face of a not-so-accidental seductress.

He remembers now she’d told him about this—the dance her sorority had to do for the Homecoming lip sync contest. She’d been really excited by their theme and choice of music, but as soon as rehearsals started she seemed to lose enthusiasm. _I’m actually good at dancing_ , she’d told rmtghx, _but I guess I just don’t have the right face. they put me toward the back_. Watching her now, Hux thinks it’s a goddamn _crime_ she wasn’t front and center then. She’s coy and capable and _radiant_.

“Fuck, man, check _that_ ,” some bro is shouting at his left elbow. Hux tries to tune him out, but the voice keeps intruding. “…catch ’er after, loosen ’er up,” the guys is boasting. “Fuckin’—those chicks get real kinky an’ shit. Let you slap ’em around—that’s some Daddy issues shit.” For a moment—for just a _single_ moment Hux tells himself they’re not talking about her. And then the guy opens his mouth again.

Honestly he can’t remember what’s said, how it happens. The next thing Hux knows, the bro is on the floor out cold and Hux’s hand is smarting from contact with the guy’s nose. He’s starting to realize what he’s done when the bro’s friend makes eye contact with him, but instead of throwing another punch, he just shrugs. “Yeah, he deserved that.”

Hux glances around to see if anyone is looking like they want to arrest him, but instead he just makes eye contact with the girl whose voice had stopped him before. She looks—a bit surprised.

“What?” Hux asks defensively. When the girl doesn’t say anything else, he flexes his hand, trying to shake it out.

“I mean, thanks, but I just—”

“That’s my friend up there,” Hux says without thinking, trying to wave away the girl’s confusion.

“Really?” the brunette looks back toward the stage. The blonde girl is handing off the microphone and the other girls have already disappeared into the crowd. “How do you know—Rose!”

Rose doesn’t seem to notice Hux—she wedges herself between him and the brunette, doing a little victory dance. “Saw me that time, huh?”  
  


“Yeah! Hey, I just met—”

As Rose turns to see where her friend is pointing, Hux signals to her with his expression that he _does not_ want to have this conversation. The other girl stops short, her sentence trailing off as she frowns at him in confusion.

“Oh,” is all Rose says when she turns and faces Hux. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Hux repeats dumbly. It’s not lost on him that Rose’s friendly, open expression has dimmed, just like this week in lab. “Excuse me,” he says with a curt nod, walking away from them in the direction of his stupid lovesick roommate.

“I’d like to get out of here,” he says crisply.

“That’s _her_ ,” Ben says, staring through the crowd.

“What?”

“You were just _talking_ to her. With the Asian girl? _That’s her_. Rey.”

Hux glances back at the two girls. Both of them are looking at him now. The brunette—Rey—waves. Hux assumes it’s a gesture for Ben, who appears frozen to the spot in something like shock.

“ _Leaving_ ,” Hux pronounces, shoulder-checking his friend as he plows toward the exit.

Hours later, he has only one new message from Teacup, one that makes his heart sink. He doesn’t doubt for one minute that Rey told her what happened. By the time he and Ben got home, he’d had the sense to turn his ringer all the way up, wondering if Rose would text a thank you to her lab partner. Instead, all he gets is this:

**1:58 a.m.**

**rzteacup:** just a thought, but people are really fucking strange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple of days left now--I'll post the last chapter and the epilogue together. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Sunday**

**10:23 p.m.**

**rzteacup:** I know it’s been a little while since we’ve talked

**rzteacup:** and maybe it was my fault?

**rzteacup:** I’m sorry

**rzteacup:** but what with tomorrow

**rzteacup:** I could really use a friend

**.**

**Monday**

Hux wakes up to messages from Teacup and checks the date, cursing the early hour he retired. How could he have forgotten?

He opens his notes app, writing the messages once to see how they sound before sending them off to her.

**7:02 a.m.**

**rmtghx:** I’m sorry I went to bed and missed your messages, dear Teacup.

**rmtghx:** You’re in my thoughts, today and every day.

**rmtghx:** I’m sure you have classes and commitments, but don’t feel guilty if you need to back out.

**rmtghx:** Take care of yourself.

It’s the most sentimental he’s ever been with her, the most tender; but it’s not a bad feeling, this overwhelming desire to protect her. And unless a miracle occurs in lab or elsewhere, this is all he can do for now.

**rmtghx:** I’ll be right here.

**.**

The heat doesn’t seem to be working in lab. Normally it’s stifling hot in all the academic buildings in the winter—something stupid about “once we turn the heat on we leave it on til spring”—but today the lab has a bad chill. Rose had left her apartment quickly, not bothering to grab a jacket; but her longsleeve t-shirt is feeling much too thin now. It’s two minutes until class starts, which isn’t enough time to do anything about it, either.

If Paige had been in her position, she would’ve jumped on the group chat— _Any sisters in the sciences building wanna let me borrow a sweater? This room is practically an igloo!_ And girls would’ve answered her. Immediately. She would’ve known instantly whether she had any sisters in lab—something Rose hasn’t even _considered_ until now.

She’s blinking hard against the beginnings of tears when her lab partner rushes into the room at the last second; she shuffles the papers in her backpack pointlessly to avoid his eyes. She’s still thinking over Internet Boy’s kind words from this morning, but his promise of “I’ll be right here” had fallen flat after everything else.

Her face is mostly arranged back into a normal expression when an elbow pushes into her arm and she startles, straightening back up to send her lab partner a withering look.

“Sorry,” he whispers, sounding much more subdued than she’s come to expect. He takes off his jacket, laying it on the table between them as he digs through his satchel for something.

_Jacket_. Rose’s attention is drawn to it—it’s the thin, insulated NorthFace kind, black and unassuming with a waterproof outer layer. It’s a pre-law jacket, a business major jacket, a frat boy jacket. It looks… warm.

_—No_ , Rose scolds herself, even as goosebumps rise on her arms. Any _jacket but this one_.

Still, Hux leaves the jacket there on the table, doesn’t make a move to put it on; and Rose continues to eye it. She thinks about what Rey had told her Thursday night—how Hux had decked another boy making crude comments about her, how he’d told Rey that Rose was his “friend.” _Why?_ She still can’t find a reason.

Phasma finishes making announcements, and they open their spiral lab manuals to complete the day’s exercises. Hux finally picks up the jacket and hangs it over the back of his chair.

Rose can’t stop the longing look she gives to the jacket, crossing her arms over her chest once her workbook is open to start reading the directions. Beside her, Hux is doing the same, but—she glances at him—there’s a certain look of concern on his face that suggests he isn’t comprehending a word he’s reading. “Well, I think I get it,” Rose says modestly, “but it looks like you have questions.”

Hux looks up at her, one brow still furrowed, then frowns at her posture. “You look cold.”

“I think I’m straight past ‘cold’ to ‘freezing,’” Rose jokes, forgetting herself, then blanching when he reaches automatically for the jacket on the back of his chair.

“I don’t think it’s that bad, but I’d—I have this, and—here, do you—?” He pushes the jacket at her awkwardly; she notes how his neck begins to turn a splotchy red and _damn_ , if that isn’t _endearing_.

She only hesitates a second before grabbing it with an, “Oh my God, thank you,” and flipping it around to put it on. It’s warm from his body heat and smells like good cologne—sweet and spicy with a little musky undertone like leather. She’s not sure she can zip the jacket over her hips—he’s slender, Hux—but even just flipping the collar up to protect the back of her neck is making a world of difference.

When she looks up again he’s watching her, and the tips of his ears have gone red. He looks as if there’s more he wants to say but also like he’s out of his depth. For a pompous ass who thought a tampon was a cheat sheet, he’s actually _not_ all horrible. Rose is merciful: she pretends not to see his blush, gesturing back at their lab manuals. “So! This equation. You know what it’s for, right?”

“I do, but as to why it’s relevant to this problem,” he says, scooting his chair a fraction closer to hers, “no, not at all.”

They work in peace for the next hour. Rose is plenty warm in Hux’s jacket, and he doesn’t seem bothered by the chill in the room himself, finally unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling them a couple of places as he listens to her explanation. Rose can’t help but notice how the dark sleeves complement his pale, sinewy forearms, watching his hand as he writes out a problem on his own. _This is incredibly stupid_ , she tells herself as she watches his long fingers, the way his pen hesitates over the paper as he rereads the problem to himself.

“Is that it?” he pushes the paper toward her, startling her out of that train of thought.

**.**

Hux and Rose get out of lab early, and he bids her goodbye politely in the hallway outside the lab before heading towards home himself. She seemed like she was in good enough spirits during class, and she’d still _come_ to class in the first place, which seems to indicate she’s doing okay. He’s torn between checking in on her and not wanting to remind her of her grief, rereading their brief morning conversation, when his phone begins ringing with a call from PHYS Lab Partner Rose Tico. Immediately he realizes why, but answers nonetheless.

“Hux? Your jacket. I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“I forgot as well!”

“I can—are you in a rush? Are you off-campus?”

She sounds distressed. He makes sure his voice is calm. “No rush, and I haven’t gotten too far. But I have other windbreakers, so it—”

“Meet me back at the sciences building?”

Hux does a smooth about-face and walks back in the direction he’s just come. “I’m on my way.”

“Sorry!” Rose says again before hanging up.

It’s an easy enough walk back to the building, but Rose is faster than him—he rounds the corner to see her standing in front of the steps, talking to two other girls. As Hux approaches, he notes two things: first, that they’re wearing sorority letters, but not for Rose’s sorority; and second, that one of them is loudly saying the name “Paige.”

When Hux is nearly upon them, Rose’s eyes dart quickly to his, her smile thin. Even if he didn’t know the whole story—even if he didn’t know enough to guess that these girls have ambushed her with memories of her dead sister on this, the anniversary of her death—he would recognize the look on her face as a silent plea for— _anything_. For an excuse. The dart of her eyes from the girls to him practically shouts _Get me out of here_.

Hux swoops into the conversation, taking Rose gently by the forearm. “Let’s go, we’ll be late,” he says, giving her a tug. He turns cold eyes on the other two girls. “Sorry to interrupt, but we have class.”

The other girls frown at him, but Rose laughs a little too brightly. “Ugh, class! It was nice meeting you both—see you around.”

Quickly they retreat, keeping pace with one another and not saying a word. Hux hears a distinct sniffle and glances over at Rose, who takes a gasp of air and swipes at the wetness on her cheeks. “Where—are we _going_?” she asks, her voice watery.

“Doesn’t matter,” Hux replies quietly as they cross the street toward the Quad. “You just looked like you needed an out.”

Rose sniffles some more, finally slowing to a stop once they approach a bench. The Quad is relatively empty, as most students are already in their next class; Rose drops her backpack onto the bench and shrugs out of the jacket, avoiding looking Hux in the eye.

“If you’re still cold, I really don’t mind. I think the weather’s fine—”

But Rose just shakes her head, folding the jacket carefully in half over her arm and dawdling with a pocket zipper before offering it back to him.

“Thank you,” she says with the tiniest smile; but when her eyes meet his again they fill with fresh tears. Hux notices how she bites her lip to stop her mouth from tremoring.

He moves to take the jacket back. “Are you alright?”

She shakes her head in frustration, wiping more tears away. “It’s—ugh. Just a dumb sob story. My, uh, my sister died today, two years ago? And everyone who used to know her…” She gestures in the direction of the sciences building.

Hux’s hand twitches in her direction, but he pulls it back, tightening his arms on the jacket. _Teacup_ , he wants to say, or even _Rose_ , but as far as she knows they’re only lab partners. He reaches for a reasonable suggestion, something he can offer.

Rose turns and puts her backpack on. “Sorry about all that. And the jacket. Thanks.”

Hux goes to open his mouth, having settled on a simple offer— _would you like me to stay with you for a minute?—_ but he imagines the scene again from Rose’s perspective. The jerk-ass lab partner reaching out to her—it would be too sudden. He can’t imagine what she’d want with his touch. “I…”

She looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to finish.

“I… hope your day gets better. As much as it can, considering.”

“Yeah,” Rose says with an unamused laugh.

“Well… see you in lab.”

“See you,” she agrees, and they depart in separate directions once again.

**.**

**Tuesday**

**7:55 a.m.**

**rmtghx:** I hope you’re well, Teacup.

**rmtghx:** Please write me back when you get up, or as soon as you see this?

Rose has half a mind not to answer. Her sleep-deprived mind has been up to strange things for the last half hour and she’s given up on sleeping entirely, frustrated by her strange circular dreams. Mixed with memories of Paige is the smell of cologne on her lab partner’s jacket, a scent she’s found faintly lingering in the strands of her hair. She keeps thinking about his hands, his narrow shoulders, his forearms in navy blue sleeves. The way he’d interjected with such grace, somehow understanding her silent plea and taking all the blame for interrupting upon himself. The crush is back— _fuck, the crush is_ so _back_.

Rose closes the conversation with Internet Boy, instead opening her texts to search for the weeks-old conversation with her lab partner. She drafts a message in her head but doesn’t start typing, pausing to note his contact name. She’d renamed him in her phone to “Asshole Hux,” the name followed by several cursing-face emoji. She edits the contact until it just says “Hux (Physics),” then types out a draft of a text she isn’t ready to send.

**.**

**9:00 a.m.**

**PHYS Lab Partner Rose Tico:** Thank you again for yesterday. I’m sorry you had to see me like that.

Hux is surprised when the notification comes through his texts, not the chat app, and tries to figure out what that means. Her message to rmtghx must be coming, he reasons, as he writes out a neutral reply:

**Me:** It was nothing.

_No,_ too _neutral_. He types a second message, hesitating briefly when he thinks of how awkward it will look to have sent two messages in succession but then pressing “send” anyway.

**Me:** I’m sorry for your loss.

Time passes—long minutes in which he finishes his coffee and his homework, packing his bag and clearing the library table as he gets ready to head to class. When he settles into a desk at 9:27, he checks the app one more time: nothing. 

**.**

**Wednesday**

**8:00 p.m.**

**rzteacup:** look I’m sorry

**rzteacup:** hard semester for me too :(

They’re making flower crowns for the date party during chapter—it’s all Hobby Lobby bags and the smell of hot glue guns and Rose is frustrated.

She knows she’s somewhat to blame for Internet Boy’s attitude. They’d never broached the subject of meeting before—not in real life, not under the pretense of anything other than maybe meeting up at a Starkiller show, if either of them could even make it to one. And Rey was right, in the end—she should never have gotten so invested in someone she met online. For all Rose knows, the “this semester” stuff was all bullshit—for all she knows, he has a girlfriend. For all she knows, everything he’d ever told her was a game, a lie.

Rose picks through the fake flowers she’d brought, opting for a pattern of pale pink and cream-colored blossoms. The theme is “Lords and Ladies,” and the flowers will complement her cream-colored slip dress perfectly. Rey had helped her add some long, flowing sleeves, and that was honestly the best thing to come out of all this—Rey, not the sleeves. As Rose pumps the trigger of the hot glue gun experimentally—no ooze of glue means it isn’t ready yet—she makes a mental note that she’s going to need to pick up a gift for her roommate on the way home. Just something to say “I appreciate you.” A Cherry Coke (Rey’s favorite). Maybe some of those awful fluorescent-pink “sno-balls.” A bucket of Red Vines, the biggest she can find.

**8:03 p.m.**

**rmtghx:** I get it.

**rmtghx:** And I forgive you.

_I can’t give you all my hope anymore_ , Rose wants to say. _I can’t be your light if you can’t also be mine. This isn’t enough. Words on a screen—it’s not enough._ She picks up the phone, staring for a long moment at the empty message field before she finally writes back.

**rzteacup:** I forgive you too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter and the epilogue are going up tomorrow! Thank you all so much for reading! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are--the gooey conclusion! ^^

**Friday**

He’s reading back through old messages again. Ben is out—probably pining after Rey from afar at yet another bar—and the house is quiet, but Hux can’t seem to motivate himself to get up. _I could watch a movie_ , he tries. _Play a video game_. But instead he keeps thinking about Teacup. About Rose.

These days of relative silence have felt different. Before, the pauses in their conversation felt natural; now it feels like Teacup is giving him the cold shoulder on purpose. _And why wouldn’t she_. She’s been vulnerable with him this whole time, but he’s only been holding back more and more. He thinks back to all the opportunities he’s missed—the morning she’d worked the pledge retreat, wishing for coffee. All the days she messaged him full of melancholy after sorority business—reminded constantly of her sister, her inability to measure up to an idealized memory. The way she’d lingered beside him when she gave his jacket back, almost as if she’d wanted to stay beside him.

_No. That’s wishful thinking_ , Hux stops himself.

He scrolls back down slowly, watching as their messages become less frequent, less conversational. He tries to imagine waking up next week to no messages from Teacup, seeing her only in lab for a couple more months, and then—?

_The end of the semester_ , he resolves. _If she seems friendly enough, I’ll say something then. Finals week. After the final. Something like that_.

And then a new message appears.

**10:40 p.m.**

**rzteacup:** this party is awful and my roommates are at the movies :(

Hux sits straight up in bed.

**rmtghx:** Awful how?

**rzteacup:** I’m just not having fun

**rzteacup:** I mean, sure, I haven’t been having fun at these lately anyway

**rzteacup:** but I really want to go home

**rzteacup:** and we’re not supposed to leave this early

**rzteacup:** and I don’t want to take an uber bc maybe they’ll murder me

**rzteacup:** and I can’t find anyone willing to get demerits to leave with me :(

Hux is out of bed, pulling his pants back on and slipping his feet into his loafers before he can think better of it. _Enough with missed opportunities._ He grabs for the phone, giving only minimal thought to the question of how to convince her to leave with her lab partner. He’ll figure that part out when he gets there.

**rmtghx:** Hang in there, Teacup.

**rmtghx:** Maybe the universe will send you what you need.

**.**

It’s a pretty stupid night to have an outdoor party, but most people are already too drunk to care. They’ve set up those tall outdoor heating elements that restaurants have, though Rose is a little worried that a drunk sister or frat boy could accidentally dance into one of them and get burned. Inside the house is gross—most frat houses are like that, and if she seeks shelter in any sort of room away from the main rooms she’s sure to walk in (or be walked in on by) a random hookup. So it’s the cold backyard she chooses to set up camp in—just beyond the dance floor and a _little_ too far from the heating elements. She’s seated on a tall brick planter that backs up to the house; and though she did her best to sweep the dark soil off of the bricks, there’s a chance she’s ruining the back of her dress with dirt.

_Who cares_ , she thinks, fingering one of the sleeves. Her date had ditched her as soon as they’d really gotten started—he’s crushing on one of the freshmen, which Rose can’t help but feel icky about—but it’s just as well. She’s managed not to message Internet Boy for over two days, but it’s been no easy task. At this point, writing to him is practically a reflex. She’s _really_ not feeling this date party, so she’d taken pity on herself. _Not like he can do anything anyway_. But the longer she sits and watches her supposed friends make fools of themselves in front of a bunch of generic assholes, the more she’s plagued by disappointment and guilt.

“Rose Tico?”

She startles at the sound of her name, a shout she barely hears over the music, mostly because of the voice she thinks she hears saying it—and she’s right. Hux, her lab partner, is making a beeline in her direction, looking out of place in his generic sweater and slacks.

“What are you doing here?” Rose blurts when he’s close enough to hear her.

“Leaving,” he deadpans.

“No, I mean—who did you come with? Why are you _here_?”

“Ah—friend of a friend,” he waves his hand vaguely, his cheeks lightly flushed. “Didn’t get the memo on the costumes.” Most of the frat boys are dressed like generic knights or kings, wearing either dramatic royal robes or combinations of grays shirts and vests meant to look like armor.

“Sure,” Rose says, trying to hide a little smile at the idea of her uptight lab partner dressed for a costume party.

“Anyway, I saw you over here and wanted to say hello before I leave.”

“Hello, then,” Rose nods, trying to hide her disappointment. She imagines trying to get Hux to dance with her—pulling him into the dancefloor chaos and putting his hands on her hips. The mental image is—there’s no other word for it, a word she can’t help but keep thinking around him— _endearing_. Her face heats. _And hot. Don’t forget “hot.”_

“Well, I’m…” Hux nods his head in the direction of the door.

Rose nods her understanding, glumly returning her attention to her phone. No new messages.

“You don’t happen to want to—leave also, do you?”

Rose looks up sharply.

“I can give you a ride home. You look miserable,” Hux says.

Rose frowns. _I mean, yes, but_ ouch.

He holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender, quickly backtracking—“I mean, your face. I mean you don’t look ugly. I—you’re very pretty. Just unhappy. Or you look like it.”

Rose glances to the dance floor again. Who’s going to notice if she leaves? And wasn’t she just telling Internet Boy how much she wanted to leave? And doesn’t she need to move on from him anyway? And doesn’t she have a little crush on Hux, stiff and irritating robot-boy that he is? _Who apparently thinks you’re “very pretty,”_ her mind adds. And would it be _so_ bad if he made a move on her?

When she looks back at him, he’s taken a few steps back and is turning away from her. “Wait!” Rose calls, and he turns back to look at her instantly.

“Yeah?”

“Actually I do want to leave,” she says. Then, to satisfy Rey’s overprotective streak, she adds, “But I’m going to take pictures of your car and your license plate and text them to my roommates.”

Hux’s mouth quirks up on one side in something like a smile, his whole expression softening. “Let’s get out of here.”

**.**

Hux sees the glow of Rose’s phone screen out of the corner of his eye just before the Bluetooth voice in his car cuts in: “Message—from—rrzzztehhcup.” He manages to kill the voice from the button on the steering wheel, but not before Rose has time to see the digital display.

“Oh, weird,” she says. “Sorry—I guess my phone must’ve connected to your Bluetooth somehow?”

“Huh, yeah,” Hux says, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as false as it feels. He prays to whatever gods are out there that she didn’t notice the “from” part, but he doesn’t push his luck, distracting her by asking for unnecessary clarification on the directions to her place. She repeats herself, but then she falls silent again.

She seemed to buy his excuse for being at the party, but once they’d settled into the car, they’d fallen mostly silent. The frat house is a good ways from campus—it’s some sort of local law—so he has plenty of time to hem and haw over whether to say something else. If she puts two and two together, if she figures it out first, the end of the semester will have been too late. _Maybe she just wasn’t paying attention_? No. He should tell her. He _absolutely_ should tell her. He glances at her in her seat—in the light from a streetlamp he catches the slight downturn of her mouth, her crown of fake flowers slightly askew. _So, funny story about why I was at the party_ , he imagines himself saying.

But all too soon, Hux is pulling the car into her lot, easing into an empty space just beside a light pole. When he turns to look at Rose again she’s looking down at her phone, her face lit from below by the glow of the screen. She makes no move to get out of the car even though they’ve arrived; and he’s trying to figure out what to say when she finally looks up at him, her expression unreadable but eyes wide.

_Uh-oh_.

For a beat they sit there in a stalemate. Suddenly Rose snatches his phone out of the cup holder where he’d left it. Hux’s hand twitches briefly toward the phone, but it’s already firmly in her grasp.

She’s trying unsuccessfully to unlock it—there’s a four-digit passcode. She furiously guesses a handful of random numbers, but there’s really no going back now. Tightening his hands on the steering wheel, Hux sighs, muttering, “1-2-2-0.”

Rose inputs the code. Hux turns his gaze back to the concrete base of the parking lot light, squeezing the steering wheel in both hands as he waits for her to explode—or at least say _something_. The fact that she’s so quiet makes the matter so much worse. _Hurry up and throw it_ , he thinks. _Strike me. Condemn me. Give me what I deserve. Just don’t—_ he tries to swallow against a dry throat, feeling ill. _Don’t prolong it_.

“I… I don’t understand.”

Hux keeps his eyes forward. He doesn’t want to see the look of betrayal on her face. He casts about for an idea of where to start, the first and most important thing to tell her. Instead all he manages is, “The username… it’s just my name with the vowels taken out.”

“What’s your first name?” she asks faintly.

“Armitage.”

“Ar… mi… tage… Hux,” she sounds it out, finally reading the jumble of letters for what they say. Then her tone changes—“You _knew_?”

“Only recently,” he says, shaking his head and still refusing eye contact. “The day—the day I reported you to Phasma. That’s when I figured it out.”

“Were you ever gonna _tell_ me?” Her voice rises in pitch and volume and starts to waver, and the sound triggers a reaction in him that makes him forget to protect himself. He turns to face her again and blanches at the tears on her face.

“‘Not this semester’—what the fuck was _that_ all about? Is this just how you get off, leading random girls—”

“No, Teacup, no!”

“You—you said all these sweet things but you wouldn’t meet me—is _this_ why?” She indicates herself. “Because you know who I really am?”

“No—it’s… it wasn’t you.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me? I needed someone. This week—I _told_ you I needed a friend. Why didn’t you _say_ something?” Rose wipes distractedly at her tears, brandishing the phone at him like a weapon.

_Because I’m a coward_ , his brain answers immediately. “Because—because sure, you like _that_ guy,” he indicates the phone, the chat app left open on the dimming screen, “but when he turns out to be your idiot stuck-up lab partner, are you still gonna like him?”

“Yes!”

“No you’re not! I’m horrible! I’m jealous of hell of how this class makes sense so easily to you—I couldn’t _physics_ my way out of a paper bag, and I’m—” His voice, initially getting louder with each thought, drops abruptly. “Christ, Rose. Loud noises give me panic attacks. I’m ‘thin as a slip of paper and just as useless.’ I cry when I listen to Starkiller. What should I have expected? Were you _really_ going to react well to that revelation?”

“Yes.”

“To _me_?”

“How many times do I have to say ‘yes,’ you moron!” Rose’s hand shoots out and grabs for his wrist—between the sleeve of his jacket hanging off her arm and the cuff of his shirt, her fingers manage to make contact with skin. She tugs on his hand just a little and he looks at her, surprised to find her a little blurry. “I—you know why I gave you back your jacket?”

“Because it’s mine?”

“Because I didn’t _want_ to give it back,” Rose insists softly, “and I was afraid of what that means. Because even though you reported me to Phasma— _you_ —” she shakes his wrist where she holds it to indicate his actual physical presence, prying his hand off the steering wheel—“your jacket smelled so nice, and you saved me from those girls, and all of a sudden your pretty eyes were so soft and apologetic, and I…” Her voice wavers, and more tears start to collect in her eyes.

“Teacup,” Hux breathes, dislodging his wrist from her grasp just enough to curl his hand around hers.

“A-and it turns out I didn’t have to be afraid of it. Because it’s you. Right? It’s you.” She drops her voice to almost a whisper. “God, it’s really you.”

The console prevents either of them from moving any closer to one another, but Hux grips her hand tighter, staring directly into her eyes. He can’t begin to imagine what kind of expression he has on his face. She’s looking at him like she’s begging him not to let go. It would be a service to her to back out now—but he’s too selfish to back away from something he wants so badly. _Please_ , he thinks— _please let me be enough_.

Rose takes a shuddering breath and squeezes his hand once. “Come inside?”

Hux only nods, squeezing back.

They finally get out of the car and he follows her mutely, shivering a little at the damp breeze. There’s wintery mix forecast for tonight—probably ice, maybe snow.

“Some night for an outdoor party,” Hux mutters lamely.

“Yeah,” Rose laughs humorlessly, but her laugh stops abruptly and she turns to look at him. “Wait, the party—did you…?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks,” she says quietly. “I think.”

Hux bristles, but he knows better than to respond to that.

**.**

Rey, Finn, and Poe haven’t texted her back at all, which isn’t unexpected; they’re at a _Lord of the Rings_ triple-feature and probably in the middle of movie number two at best.

_Plenty of time for a conversation_ , Rose tells herself, checking now and then to make sure Hux is still behind her as she leads him through the first breezeway toward their building. She’s really freezing now that the wind has picked up, but she keeps her pace slow, trying to process everything.

_Honestly, it’s the best possible outcome_ , she tells herself. _If Hux is also Internet Boy, and I already think Hux is cute, then—isn’t that easy?_ But of course it isn’t that easy. She’s a ball of emotions by the time they reach the fourth floor— _and isn’t that an eternal mood_ —but she remains outwardly calm as she unlocks the door and lets him in.

Hux follows her into the kitchen, where she pulls out the kettle and fills it with water, flipping the switch on. “Coffee, tea…?” _Or me_ , the saying goes, but Rose skips that part.

“Whatever you’re having,” Hux says neutrally, one palm resting on the kitchen island and the other half of his body awkwardly leaning. He looks _so_ stiff and ill at ease that Rose feels an urge to reach up and pat him reassuringly on the head—the way she’d comfort a repentant puppy. Instead, she just fills the teapot with her favorite looseleaf tea. There’s some caffeine in it, but nothing like usual kick of black coffee.

They stand in silence as the kettle begins to make its usual rumbling sounds, but finally Rose decides to put Hux out of his misery. “Have a seat, okay? We’ve got a decently comfortable couch.”

Hux turns and peers into the living room, then removes himself from the kitchen.

**.**

Hux’s chest feels tight. It’s not a full-blown panic attack, but it’s the sort of preceding feeling. He places his palms flat on the couch, trying to focus on the way it feels—the fabric is coarse. The cushion sags some. It’s a dark navy blue. He makes himself notice the details in this room: a haphazard collection of DVDs and video games piled under the beat-up coffee table that serves as a TV stand. A pair of beanbags. An empty water bottle on the floor next to someone’s laptop, which is still tethered to the wall by a charger. An ugly wall clock shaped like a frog, under which someone has affixed a placard reading “REGIONAL MANAGER.”

“Hey,” Rose announces herself, and Hux flinches just slightly.

“Thank you,” he says when she hands him the hot mug of tea. He smells it (strong and herbal) and takes a small sip. “It’s good.”

“I know,” Rose says with a private smile, seating herself at the opposite end of the couch.

They sip their tea again. Hux wonders how close the roommates are to getting home—he remembers she’d said they were at a movie—but to ask would be awfully presumptuous. He casts about for something to say, but the best he can come up with is “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Rose repeats, eyeing him over her mug. She looks as if she wants to say something, but when she finally speaks, she drops her eyes. “I… wanted to ask you if there was anything else you weren’t telling me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I guess—well, I’m still mad at you, but I guess I can understand why you didn’t tell me right away,” she says, still looking at her tea rather than his face. “I just wanted to be sure there isn’t anything else you were… only half-honest about.”

Hux shakes his head once, side-to-side, his reply easy and automatic: “No. I’ve been nothing but myself. Haven’t you?”

Rose nods vigorously, biting for a moment at her lip. She takes a sip of her tea, looking like some sort of fairy princess; the slip dress is short, riding up her thighs, and she’s still wearing that absurd flower crown.

“You look beautiful,” Hux says before he thinks to stop himself.

“Thank you.”

Hux takes a gulp of tea—it’s a little too hot on his throat going down, but his mouth has run dry. “Rose, I—”

“Armitage—”

They stop, having spoken at the same time, but instead of politely offering that he go first, Rose takes the opportunity to plow on ahead. “Armitage,” she says again, pronouncing his name carefully. “This is—not how I thought this would go? Surprising, but also not? I don’t even know yet.”

“I understand,” he says evenly, gripping his cup more tightly at the hopes of concealing how his hands have begun shaking.

“But since you’re here, I think I deserve to hear it for myself how you really feel. I know we were just internet friends and we never planned on meeting, but…” She trails off, reaching down to set her mug on the low circular table that seems to serve as a coffee table.

It doesn’t escape his notice that _her_ hands are shaking, too.

**.**

For a moment he just keeps staring at her, though it’s more than that—there’s unshakeable sincerity in his eyes, same as the way he’d looked at her in the car. It reminds Rose of Rey: the expression of someone who rarely allows themself to be vulnerable finally opening up.

Then Hux mimics her, setting his cup down carefully, reaching halfway across the table for a coaster in spite of all the scratches on the tabletop. It’s a small gesture that Rose finds eye-rollingly _endearing_ , but there’s no more time left to contemplate because he’s scooting toward her, moving to the center cushion and reaching one very tentative hand for her face—

Rose closes her eyes when his fingers brush her cheek, his touch feather-light, and when she opens them again they’re nearly nose-to-nose.

“I didn’t want to tell you who I was,” he breathes, his voice pitched low, “because I was afraid you’d reject me. I still think you’re brilliant in every way. May I kiss y—”

And she beats him to the punch.

At first, the only thing Rose can think is _oh_. _Oh_ to how he instantly opens his mouth to her, _oh_ to his teeth nipping at her bottom lip, _oh_ to way his other hand grazes her shoulder, then loses all hesitation, crushing her closer to him. They make out for a few solid minutes before he pulls back to catch his breath. “Your roommates,” he says. “Are they on the way—?”

“They’ll be gone a while still,” Rose says with a little grin. “But this isn’t very comfortable. I—can we move to my room?”

Hux stands abruptly, offering her his hand.

_I’ll take that as a yes_.

**.**

Hux is happy just to get to kiss her. On her bed, he tastes her lips again and again, wrapping his arms around her to keep her in range. She keeps finding ways to playfully evade him, placing brief kisses to his nose, his eyelids, his jawline, and his cheeks. They pause when Rose rolls onto one side and the bobby pins securing her flower crown jab her in the scalp. They pause again when she becomes frustrated with her range of movement in the slip dress, excusing herself to the bathroom to change into pajamas.

Rose’s pajamas are really just soft shorts and a promotional t-shirt for the campus bookstore. When she returns, she digs something out of a drawer and offers it to him. “I wore these to do yard work back home. They’re clean,” she says, passing him a pair of men’s basketball shorts. “You know, if you wanted to change, too.”

“You don’t need me to leave soon?”

“I understand if you need to go,” Rose teases, “but I wouldn’t say _soon_.” She plays with the bottom hem of his sweater, giving it a little tug as if to say _off with this now_.

Hux likes bulkier sweaters because they give him the illusion of being bigger. He hesitates, thinking of how clearly she’ll see his slight frame if he strips down to his undershirt and this pair of shorts. But then there’s Rose, smiling sweetly at him, her lips reddish and kiss-swollen and her hair a _little_ disheveled from his earlier teasing.

When he reenters the room in several less layers—his clothes carefully folded in a pile he leaves beside his shoes—Rose’s smile splits into a grin. She springs to her feet and hurries to embrace him, her fingernails scratching lightly at his back through his t-shirt. “Oh my God, you’re so _cute_ ,” she declares, rising up on tiptoe for a kiss (he leans down, unsure where she’s going but ready to help) that she ends up planting on the tip of his nose before taking him by the hand and dragging him back to make out in her bed.

**.**

**Saturday**

Hux wakes to the sound of doors opening and closing, quiet voices, and a light in the hallway. Rose’s alarm clock reads 3:17 a.m. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, much less turning out the lights, but Rose is curled around him, her head on his chest.

All they’d done was kiss (and kiss, and kiss, and kiss). Though Hux’s body had certainly felt inclined toward other activities, he’d kept that to himself. They’ve planned to meet up to study at lunch, plus Rose wants him to watch some movie with her, so it’s probably pretty safe to say they’re going to start dating—and he wants to do this right. Also, making out is _nice_.

Another door closes elsewhere in the apartment, and Hux hears water running, plush the _shika-shika-shika_ sound of someone brushing their teeth. Beside him, Rose stirs, inhaling deeply and then snuggling further into him.

There’s a little knock at her door then. “Rose?” a somewhat familiar female voice calls. Hux realizes it’s that girl that Ben’s mooning over, Rey. “Hey, Rosie, you in there? Did you get home okay?”

Rose sighs and Hux realizes she’s awake. She untangles herself from him and the comforter and goes to the door, opening it just a crack so that the bright hallway light casts just a tiny sliver on the wall. It’s still enough light to make Hux squint.

“Yeah, I’m sorry I got so dramatic. I’m good,” Rose says softly.

“I’m sorry we didn’t help you,” Rey apologizes back.

“No worries,” Rose yawns.

“See you in the morning.”

“’Kay,” Rose yawns again, closing the door.

“Sorry I fell asleep,” Hux whispers, sitting up in bed. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Do _you_ want to leave?”

Hux can’t see her expression—the hall light has blinded him—and Rose apparently can’t see much either, as a few of her fingers collide with his nose. She giggles. “You’re welcome to stay. I—really like having you here. But if it’s too much too soon, or if you just need to get some sleep for something tomorrow…”

“I’ll stay,” Hux says quickly, reaching blindly for her in the dark. He finds her arm. “Damn, I can’t see anything.”

“Me either.”

Rose climbs back into bed, but not without kneeing him in the side and kicking him in the shin. Hux tries to help, but as soon as he moves his elbow knocks (gently!) into her face, resulting in a round of apologies and even more giggling. Finally Rose settles onto her side and Hux curls around her, securing her closer to him with an arm slung around her waist. It’s chilly in her apartment—the heater doesn’t go past 68, she’d told him hours ago—but curled around Rose in bed, Hux feels warm all over.


	7. Epilogue

In the morning, Hux goes home to freshen up for the rest of their day together. Rose’s roommate Finn is in the kitchen when he’s on the way out; they aren’t introduced, but Hux recognizes him from an Econ study group they’d been in last spring semester. In spite of the awkwardness of the moment, Finn doesn’t say anything, just lifts an eyebrow as Hux passes through. Rose, for her part, stops Hux at the door, kissing him quickly on the lips and reminding him to text her before he comes to pick her up again.

Ben has just gotten home from a run and is drinking a protein shake in the kitchen when Hux lets himself in. If Ben isn’t paying attention, he might assume that Hux arrived home after him and left early to run errands. If Ben _is_ paying attention, he’ll definitely notice the wrinkles in Hux’s pants and the lack of evidence of errands having been done. Whichever it is, that’ll be a problem for later.

Hux is about to step into the shower when his phone lights up with new messages. First, the chat app:

**10:12 a.m.**

**rzteacup:** I’m deleting this app.

**rzteacup:** just FYI

**rzteacup:** also I have a crush on my lab partner

**rzteacup:** so I’d much rather talk to him

**rzteacup:** I hope you understand.

And then his regular texts:

**PHYS Lab Partner Rose Tico:** hi Armie :)

Hux makes a sound somewhere between an exasperated sigh and a laugh. First he edits her contact, changing her display name to “ **Rose (Teacup)**.” Then he reads her messages again, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, before firing off a couple of messages of his own.

**.**

**10:14 a.m.**

**Armitage:** First, to be clear, I do not approve of that nickname.

Rose laughs out loud, too full of joy and hope to contain herself. First thing this morning they’d talked quietly, his arms still around her— _I’m sorry_ , he’d repeated. _I should have told you right away._

_Yes_ , she’d agreed, _you should have. And I’m sure you have a reason. But I want to know that part of you too._ She’d turned in his arms, resting a palm against his cheek. _I’ve already told you so much about me—I want to hear about you too, okay? I really do._

_It won’t be easy for me_ , he’d admitted, dropping their eye contact in a way that almost made him seem ashamed. _I’m a mess_.

_It’s okay, Internet Boy_ , she’d said softly, pressing her lips briefly against his. She smoothed over his cheekbone with her thumb. _It’s just me._

They’d made their plans for the day and she’d walked with him to the door. It was at once familiar and new, comfortable and easy and _right_ but also different and unpredictable and risky—and he felt it, too. She’d seen it in his eyes all last night. She’d seen it when she’d kissed him at the door. An end _and_ a beginning. She hums to herself, unable to stop smiling, when she reads his second text:

**Armitage:** Hello, Rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! :)


End file.
